


A Ballad for Dark Nights

by khazadqueen (ama)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Courtship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Music, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/khazadqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas first hears Gimli sing by a fire in Rivendell, and first sings for him in Lothlorien.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ballad for Dark Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from Jan, who wanted "Enamor Me," specifically cultural differences in wooing situations. The internet told me that Tolkien listed a good voice as something that elves find attractive, and then this happened.

For many weeks after the decision was made, those who would become the Fellowship of the Ring remained in Rivendell, awaiting scouts and the knowledge that Lord Elrond would give them. Some were more pleased with this prolonged stay than others; and none were as displeased as Gloin, who had not been so long in the company of Elves since his captivity long ago, and his son, who had heard much of the doings of Elves and liked them not. They spent many hours in their room pouring over maps and plotting the defense of Erebor, although they well knew that Gloin would not return in time to implement most of them. Still, he recognized that his son was clever in war, and he promised that he would bring Gimli’s recommendations to old Dwalin, the general, whenever he returned.

Despite all this, it would be impossible to remain completely isolated during all that time, and in any case Gloin was disinclined to neglect his old friend Bilbo. Gimli, too, was eager to spend time in the hobbit’s company, for although he had never been to the Shire himself, his father had gone several times over the years, and always returned with fond words of Bilbo and scraps of the stories and poems that the hobbit liked to tell. Very frequently in the evenings, then, the two Dwarves would go down and sit with Bilbo by the fire, smoke their pipes, and trade tales.

“Oh, do let’s have a song tonight,” Bilbo said one evening, as he did most nights. “I have just the one—have you heard the song of the Lady Moon and the forget-me-nots?”

The Dwarves had not, but the Elves in the room had heard it from Bilbo many times, and they began to sing in their voices as light and smooth as flowing streams. It was a sweet song, much favored by mother hobbits with rowdy children that must be persuaded to sleep, and despite its strangeness to Gimli, he found that he liked it very much. The chorus was repeated often, and it was so simple that he quickly had the tune in his head and, without thinking much of it, he joined his voice to the song.

Immediately, two or three of the surrounding Elves broke off and hid laughter behind their pale hands, and the rest continued to sing with smiles on their faces. Gimli’s singing—though considered very fine amongst the Dwarves—was strange to their ears, for his voice was quite a bit deeper than any Elf could reach, and thick and rough compared to theirs.

“Why do ye laugh?” Gloin demanded angrily, rising from his chair. “Do you offer insult to the guest of your lord’s house?”

“Nay, Master Dwarf,” one of the Elves said quickly. “Peace! It is a rare thing to hear Dwarves and Elves joined in song, and my friends were surprised and delighted. Pray, let us continue.”

But Gimli could not be persuaded to join them again, and after only a moment he stood, muttered something they could not understand in the tongue of Dwarves (every word of which sounded like either a curse or a war cry, to them), and departed.

Three nights later, he again joined his father and Bilbo by the fire; however, this time the room was nearly empty, except for Bilbo and his nephew, and the Elf Legolas, who had been telling Bilbo news of his father. This, naturally, meant that Bilbo quite happily launched into the telling of his long-ago adventure.

“And to think, I nearly stayed at home! I really do think, my dear Gloin, that I never would have ventured from my little hobbit hole, if it were not for that very excellent song that you and your king performed; it wakened the spirit of adventure in me! I’ve tried to tell it to Frodo, haven’t I, my lad, but a hobbit voice is not a Dwarf voice, to be sure. It does not come out right… and in any case, I suppose it wouldn’t sound half so good without Thorin’s harp.”

“Aye,” Gloin said gravely. “Well I remember the sound—Thorin wrote the words himself, you know, and sang them often. Fili and Kili knew the words by heart before they were out of the cradle. Gimli heard it frequently, too, for I have always thought that a proper Dwarf education ought to include all the old songs. That was a favorite of yours, wasn’t it?”

Gimli hm’d his assent, and Frodo looked at the two Dwarves with hopeful eyes.

“I don’t suppose you might be persuaded to sing a little?” Bilbo asked, giving voice to his nephew’s wish. “I would dearly love to hear it.”

“Not me!” Gloin declined. “No, I was never fine enough a singer to carry a tune by myself. The chorus is my place! Gimli?”

Gimli had been thinking quite deeply, and only half-listening to the conversation, but he sat up and made a small bow in Frodo and Bilbo’s direction.

“How can I refuse, Mr. Baggins?”

Gimli cleared his throat and began to sing softly, and a sigh passed through Bilbo’s lips. The words were low and rich, like the shifting and groaning of the mountain beneath the tread of the Dwarves. It sounded unlike anything ever heard in the halls of Elrond—even unlike Gimli’s song from a few evenings before, for this one was weighted with the long-held grief for his cousins and distant kin. It stirred old memories in the hearts of Gloin and Bilbo, and seemed to Frodo like a children’s story come to life.

As for Legolas, forgotten at the edge of the firelit circle, he could not find the words to describe the effect it had on him. Elves dearly love music, and especially the Elves of Mirkwood, who often chased away the darkness with song. This, though, was different—it was a ballad made for dark nights, that took comfort in the darkness. Gimli’s voice rumbled through the room, immense and powerful and deep to the marrow. Legolas’s eyes fell on the Dwarf with guarded curiosity as his voice faded to a low rasp and then silence.

Both hobbits thanked Gimli quietly, and Legolas leaned forward, his golden hair glinting in the light.

“You have a fine voice, Master Dwarf,” he said, and he tried to make the words sound easy so that none would perceive the trembling in his heart.

To his surprise, Gimli looked at him with hostility; he had not heard of the rudeness from the night before, and did not understand that his attempt at casualness had been interpreted as insincerity.

“It is not to the taste of the Elves, I know,” Gimli said, his irritation plain in his voice. “But never have we been much concerned with pleasing those who would not count us friends.”

A dull flush stained the tips of Legolas’s ears, and he retreated into silence again. Not long after, Gimli excused himself to his room. They did not speak again for some time, until the Homely House was far behind them.

\---

The moment was not addressed between them for many long weeks, until they arrived in Lothlorien. They had walked among its trees, and spoken of their lost friends and the journey to come. One night, they sat on a platform high in a tree—Gimli had been reluctant to climb to the topmost branches, but he went as far as he could, for if they looked very carefully, they could see Dol Godur and the trees of Mirkwood, by the light of the moon. Even Legolas’s keen eye could not spot Erebor, but it was a comfort to think of home, and they spoke for some time of the family and halls they had left behind.

“Your cousin Balin,” Legolas offered tentatively, after a pause. “You knew him well?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” Gimli said, shifting where he sat. He rested his broad back against the trunk of the tree and wished for a pipe, but he dared not light a fire so close to the golden leaves. “Ah, he was an old Dwarf even when he left. Perhaps it was foolish of me to expect his welcome.”

“I do not think it was foolish,” Legolas murmured. Gimli only smiled thinly, knowing full well that the experience of Elves with death could not resemble his own.

“My uncle Oin was listed among the fallen, as well—taken by the Watcher in the Water. That will be hard news to bear.”

“I am sorry.”

Gimli nodded his acceptance of the gesture, and tilted his head. The lament was beginning again. He closed his eyes and allowed the Elven voices to trickle through the leaves. The words were unintelligible to him, but he recognized the sorrow in the tone, greater sorrow than he had ever thought the Eldar beings could possess. Had they all not witnessed so many deaths of lesser beings, and grown hardened to it? Such he had always been told.

He looked at Legolas and saw that his friend was still gazing out at Mirkwood, his hair silver under the stars.

“You still do not join your kin?”

“Not yet. In time, I may, but with a dear friend gone and the sight of my home so shrouded in darkness… my heart is too heavy.” There was a long silence between them, and Legolas thought back to the mourning song Gimli had shared before the fire in Rivendell. “Will you join them?” he asked.

“I? I cannot speak their tongue nor join their harmonies. No, I will not offer myself to such ridicule.”

His voice was bitter, and Legolas looked at him in amazement.

“Ridicule! What being that walks upon the earth, having heard such rich melodies, could ridicule the singer? Keep your silence if you will, Gimli, son of Gloin, but do not think so falsely.”

“It is not idle thought, but memory, my friend,” Gimli said grudgingly.

In truth, he had kept the laughter of the Rivendell Elves in memory, and yet wondered whether Legolas’s words had been as false as they had sounded to his ears. Still, he was loathe to bring up the moment for fear of sounding childish, and when his friend persisted, he told the story in clipped words. Legolas stared at him, his eyes wide in shock and his fair face creased with distressed lines.

“Ai, the high hearts of Elves! I can hardly believe they would show such disrespect to one so unworthy of it, in their lord’s own halls, no less! May the Valar chide them for their cruelty ere long, and Aule defend his favored sons. Gimli, my friend, forgive me for not understanding before. I have thought, all this time, that you were mocking _me_ for my earnestness, and here you were, feeling mocked by my lack of it! Nay, I spoke true that night and this one when I say that your song was a joy and a sorrow to hear. Never had I heard Dwarvish music, and it moved me.”

At that, Gimli hardly knew what to say, but he bowed and thanked him very profusely, and they listened in perfect silence and companionship to the Elven voices whispering among the leaves. Legolas, thinking deeply, was transported into another wood on another evening, long years ago, before his mother had heard the call to Valinor. He thought of his mother’s gentle voice rising with the wind, and the light in his father’s eyes when he looked upon her. Soon the darkness had grown too great for her to bear, and the Elvenking could not look on her sorrow without sharing her pain, and music had been no salvation, but that night…

Unthinkingly, he closed his eyes and began to sing. The lament seemed sweeter to Gimli’s ears, and stronger, and as he turned his gaze on the Elf beside him, he found himself wondering why he had not noticed the lines around Legolas’s eyes, faint as they were, that spoke of long-held cares. They did nothing to mar his fine features—quite the opposite, in fact—and Gimli did not realize until the song faded that he was staring. Legolas noticed his attention, and a dark flush touched the tips of his ears and the back of his neck.

“A fine tribute,” Gimli murmured. “Gandalf would have liked it.”

“That is all I may hope,” Legolas said quietly, and resisted the urge to say _but did it please you, as well?_ “Come, my friend; let us rejoin our fellowship. You cannot hide the weariness in your face, no matter how you try.”

“Do you not join your kin for the night?” Gimli asked as they climbed down the tree, clumsily or gracefully as was their nature.

“Not tonight, I think,” Legolas answered, and the two struck out through the winding paths. Legolas rested his hand on Gimli’s back as they walked, and felt the steady rise and fall of his breath, and both walked with full hearts.


End file.
